


Fairly Weathered

by vermilionvice



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, I don’t even know how to tag fics anymore, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Smut, Weird flirting, Zevran being Zevran, best friend Morrigan, emotionally unavailable Warden, this is the first time I’ve posted fic in 5 years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermilionvice/pseuds/vermilionvice
Summary: A rag tag group of a legendary witch, the last Grey Wardens with targets on their backs, a Qunari criminal, and a bard who turned her face to the Maker... maybe one more assassin wouldn’t be so bad. Honestly, he fits in too well. Just don’t tell him, his head is big enough as it is.Just some fun self-indulgent Zevran/fem!Warden to write while I’m bored at my desk at work. If you like weird flirting, sarcasm, angst peppered into fluff, a bit of slow burn, a stupid amount of smut, and hella Morrigan/fem!Warden friendship.... well then this might be up your alley. (Rated E for later chapters)





	1. Well Met

Aislin knew it was a trap as soon as the woman approached them, begging for them to help, that bandits had attacked them. Her face remained impassive as she surveyed the scene before her. One dead ox lay by one of the overturned carts, there seemed to be no one around.

The silence in the valley made her suspicious, usually there were sounds of birds twittering in the trees, but there was only silence. A warning, a sign that something was not right. It could be attributed to the attack, she supposed, but there were no dead bodies littering the ground. There was no evidence that the carts had been ransacked. In Aislin’s personal opinion as a rogue, and one trained as an assassin, this was as staged set up for an ambush if she ever saw one. And not a well-constructed one either. She would have to be sure to let them know her thoughts once they revealed themselves, before or after she slit their throats for insulting her with this slap-dash set up. 

She glanced back at her companions, she reached up to scratch the back of her neck and briefly touched the hilt of one of her daggers in warning. Morrigan caught on quickly and inclined her chin slightly to signal her understanding. Aislin glanced meaningfully at Alistair and Lelianna, the latter still looked slightly confused but two of three was not bad, he would catch on quickly.

Aislin turned back to the woman and smiled warmly, a farce of her own, “Show us how we can help,” she said, lacing her voice with concern. This would be fun. No one ever suspected the tiny elven woman with the pretty face to betray them. Well, maybe in Orlais, but beyond that god-forsaken country she was confident that could fool any sucker, because she was always underestimated. A fact of her life that used to infuriate her, but now she uses to her advantage. Now to take down the bandits that surely laid in wait.

As the woman led on, predictably a dozen or so people emerged from the carts after she met with a tanned elven man. Aislin smiled serenely, counting them quickly to gauge the danger. She was unconcerned, she drew one of her daggers leisurely, flipping it in her hand as the ambushers began nocking arrows and drawing their swords. Aislin has to jump out of the way of a falling tree trunk, which then blocked any path of escape.

The elven man approached them, the swagger to his step indicating excessive confidence, something easy to exploit. Aislin sized him up, and he did so in return as he shouted for his comrades, “The Grey Warden dies here!” 

Oh, that is what this is about. Their efforts to recruit the Dalish must have reached the ears of a very particular man. 

“The Antivan Crows send their regards,” he said by way of greeting, and Aislin’s serene, closed lip smile widened to bare her teeth, this was going to be absolutely delightful. The Crows were an interesting group to be sure, and much more exciting than drab and inept bandits. 

“How lovely. Please, send Falon’Din my regards, pretty,” she cooed, drawing one of her throwing knives from her waist into her left hand. The man’s eyes lit up at her return, and gave a short, pleased laugh at her moxie. 

The battle began when an arrow whizzed past the elven man’s face, meant to sink into her eye, which Aislin sidestepped, her braid hitting her face with the quick movement. She heard the arrow hit Alistair’s shield behind them, before throwing her own knife into the socket of the woman who had led them here in return. She fell, dead, and Aislin stepped forward over her body to parry the man’s subsequent attack.

Aislin met his eyes as their daggers clashed, “I promise I will not treat your face so unkindly, yours is one to be preserved,” she told him with a glint in her eye as she feinted for his ribs and then slashed at his throat. He jumped back, and when Aislin went to follow she also had to jump back to avoid a flurry of arrows.

“Morrigan, archers!” she called, just avoiding the poisoned tips. The Crows were well known for their potent poisons, she would have to avoid every blow. She could take maybe three cuts before the toxins would affect her body, she would have to be vigilant. 

“Indeed they are,” came Morrigan’s dry reply, and the crash of ice magic followed by screams seemed far away as Aislin squared off with the man who seemed to be the leader. Aislin did appreciate the sarcasm, though she was one of the only ones in their group who did. Alistair was keeping the bulk of the fighter at bay, while Lelianna was dispatching many on her own as they were distracted. It seemed as though this elven man had zeroed in on her from the beginning. This must have been a very specific hit placed on her and Alistair’s heads, it reeked of Loghain’s foul play.

It was not often that two assassins squared off like this, while Aislin held the title Grey Warden now, she was first and foremost trained as a quiet killer, not a brawler, not a warrior. She enjoyed the thrill of battle, but her talents laid with stealth and deception. However, this was entirely delightful to her, to find herself circling an opponent who adopted the same cat-like movements, she was no stranger to the battlefield especially not after joining the Grey Wardens. However they were hunters, killers, stalkers, and their stances mirrored one another. Aislin often grew bored of outwitting foes that barrelled at her with their swords held high, leaving their weak spots completely open for her to exploit. This man excited her, she would enjoy killing him, and that was evident in her eyes and reflected in his.

He seemed equally pleased, a smirk adorning his lips as he knocked away a knife that she produced from the sleeve of her light armor with the broadsword in his dominant hand. Admittedly it was not a good throw, just a distraction. She studied his movements, his footwork, everybody had a weak point but he was obviously very adept at hiding his. 

“What are you searching for, beautiful lady?” he taunted her, noticing her eyes flitting around his body and finding nothing, “Do you perhaps like what you see?”

Aislin grinned, “I would like it better if I could find a limp or an old injury… or even a non-dominant hand to exploit,” she admitted, knowing full well that he knew this already, “I do love the sight of a man at my mercy.” 

Oh, he liked that. His eyes flashed as he rushed her, going for the throat. Aislin caught his blade and gave a sharp kick to his ankle, causing him to stumble momentarily. She grabbed the hilt of his blade, but he was obviously stronger than her, if she allowed him to press further he would kill her easily. 

Her arms shook with the effort of holding him back, his other blade struck at her abdomen but glanced off her enchanted light armor. Her knee came up and she kicked down hard at his leg, causing him to stumble again and she danced away as he gave another swipe at her.

“I do like the thought of being at your mercy, though in a slightly different context,” he finally answered as he resumed walking in a leisurely circle. Seeking an opening, a warrior broke away from Alistair and Aislin’s face twisted in displeasure as he took a swing for her head, interrupting her dance with the elven man. 

“Do you mind?” she spat, ducking underneath the blade and sticking her dagger through the weak point in his chainmail into his ribs. He spat blood and collapsed holding his wound, Aislin kicked his sword away and put her dagger in his eye, before having to turn to deflect a blow from her main opponent.

He leaned close and smiled at her as her arms shook with the force of the blow, “You know, it truly is a shame to kill you,” he said conversationally. Aislin could smell the poison off his blade, and recognized the mixture. Oh, yes, it would be very bad to be cut even once, actually. It was a paralytic. The realization sent a thrill through her.

“Not too much of a shame to stop trying though, I see,” she responded haughtily, keeping the strain out of her voice the best she could. He barked a laugh, bearing down on her. She couldn’t back away from this engagement without risking a quick nick to the exposed parts of her body, she was sure that was his play now that he could not outwit her in combat as easily as he had expected

“Oh, a true shame indeed, it seems, beautiful. Though I see this more as a duel than an assassination now. I am truly impressed by you, Grey Warden, it is an honor to kill or be killed bysuch a surprising opponent.” 

Now, Aislin was admittedly stalling, she was glad he continued talking though that made her uneasy. He was stronger than her, she generally did not allow her larger opponents to get this close before killing them, but the attack from the warrior had given him a window to get close quickly and keep her from getting away again. His stance had adjusted since the last time, she would not be able to compromise his footing this time. Very clever, she was truly impressed as well. She just was a bit more sparse with her compliments, tending to be coy. Right now, however, she was a bit more preoccupied with surviving than flirting... despite her bravado.

She couldn’t back away from this engagement without risking a quick nick to the exposed parts of her body, she was sure that was his play now that he could not outwit her in combat as easily as he had expected. He was holding her there waiting for her to move, to give him an opening. 

Admittedly she had let her hubris get her into trouble once again. Always overconfident, though rather more humble these days than when she was a scrap of a thing learning to survive on the streets of Denerim, good gods. Too many times had she outwitted an underpaid guard and felt untouchable, only to land herself in deep trouble the next day because of her big head. Aislin has survived many encounters, killed many people dead set on killing her, but she was not entirely sure she would actually survive this one, though she kept her face as impassive as possible as she frantically sought a way out. 

Suddenly, a thunk. And the elven man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Not dead, it seemed by the groan he let out when he hit the ground, but semi-conscious at best. Aislin stared at him, feeling that this was rather anticlimactic but she was grateful that she was not in the same position but with a cut throat or stuck like a pig. 

“Thank you, Alistair,” she said with disappointment in her voice. He rolled his eyes at her, and kept his sword pointed at the unconscious man he had just knocked out with the pommel of his sword.

“Yeah well, someone had to stop the disturbing... murder flirting,” he said with disgust evident in his voice, though his gave her a good-natured smirk.

Aislin smirked and shrugged, “Not my best moment, honestly. But it is not everyday we get the pleasure of crossing swords with the Antivan Crows.” 

“Speaking of which, they are all dead except for this one,” Leliana chimed in, “We should kill him before he regains consciousness.”

Aislin knew that the best course of action would probably be to kill him now, but she was also very curious for some names and answers from the leader of this ambush. Knowing she may regret it later, she held up a hand to stop Leliana from cutting his throat.

“We will question him first,” she said, crouching down and resting her elbows on her knees. He groaned, his eyes rolling under his lids. His eyes opened to slits, and Aislin moved to adjust his chin with one of her engraved daggers, tilting his face up to hers with the flat of it. 

“Good morning handsome,” she taunted with a grin, though her confidence felt misplaced even to her since she had not been able to beat him on her own. She could practically hear Alistair rolling his eyes behind her. 

He groaned in response, “Uh…. I… oh. I had hoped I would wake up dead, or rather not wake up at all as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.” 

Aislin leaned closer, “No, not yet, though I do think it is bad sport to kill a semi-conscious opponent that I was not able to overcome on my own, so I suppose you could thank Alistair for that.”

Alistair snorted before Aislin continued conversationally, “Though I do think I would like to torture you first,” Aislin really wasn’t one for torture, it wasn’t quite her style, but the threat of which usually served the same purpose as the practical option. 

The elven man smirked up at her despite what was sure to be a splitting headache, “Oho, you kept me around to have a little fun first, eh? But the purpose of torture is usually to interrogate, yes? So despite the potential of fun, perhaps I’ll save you a bit of time and get right to the point.” 

Aislin’s grin widened, “I like this compliant attitude, though you must know it will be hard to trust anything you say. I am not so easily fooled as to believe the words of a fellow assassin, pretty.” 

He shrugged one shoulder, careful not to move his head and nick his own throat on her blade, “Be that as it may, I have no reason to lie. Since I failed to kill you, my life is forfeit, the Crows will kill me anyway.”

Aislin knew this, one will almost never meet an ex-Antivan Crow for that particular reason. Though Aislin herself had met all of one in her young life, an older woman hiding in plain sight. She was dead now, the Crows eventually caught up with her. Even if this man killed her later it would not matter because he didn’t succeed the first time, Aislin knew this well. She locked away that particular memory and leveled the man with her gaze.

“Then I would start talking.” 

He did so, expanding that his name was Zevran, Zev to his friends. And he confirmed that Loghain was the man who had ordered the hit on any remaining Grey Wardens. A desperate act of a guilty man if Aislin ever saw one. Her face twisted as if she tasted something foul thinking on it.

Zevran had a proposal for her after he answered any question Aislin could think to ask. 

“As I said, I fail to kill you, my life is forfeit. That’s how it works, if you don’t kill me the Crows will. Thing is, I like living, and you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause. So, let me serve you instead.” 

Aislin blinked, she was not exactly expecting that. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she pressed her dagger to his throat, though not yet hard enough to draw blood. 

“I told you I was not fooled so easily by the sweet words of a kindred assassin,” she hissed, and searched his eyes for signs of deceit. Assassins were generally well-versed in the art of lying, it was hard to discern even with Aislin’s own prowess at it. Normal people had tells, assassins had those beaten out of them early. 

A throat cleared behind her, “I do not believe he is lying,” Morrigan drawled. Aislin relaxed a little at the sound of her voice, something not many people could say the same of ‘the Witch of the Wilds’. But she just so happened to be the closest thing to a best friend that Aislin had experienced since her childhood, as prickly as they both were, it worked. 

She pulled her dagger back, sheathing it silently as she inwardly mused. Zevran could very well be an asset to them, but Aislin could not bring herself to completely discard the idea that he would one day slit all their throats in the night. Though, beyond her paranoia, she knew that this would not benefit him. He needed protection from the Crows or he probably would not last more than a few weeks on the run. Even if he did, the moment his guard was down they would catch up to him. 

A pang of pity, rather uncharacteristic for Aislin, softened her gaze incrementally, and Zevran’s face lifted slightly at the sight. She should not have been impressed that he noticed the small shift in her expression, but she was. Her face was hard to read even when she was emoting freely. She rolled her eyes and extended a hand to help him stand.

“I will not hesitate to kill you if I get even an inkling that you will betray us,” was her warm and friendly welcome to the crew. Zevran gave her a blinding smile as he gripped her forearm and she started to hoist him to his feet. What was one more dangerous individual on this ragtag team of idiots, she reasoned. Two wanted Grey Wardens, a feared and near-legendary Witch of the Wilds, a Qunari criminal that she had saved from a cruel Darkspawn death, a bard turned Chantry girl, and an old lady brought back from the dead by a benevolent demon…. He was surely not the biggest threat amongst them. Her lips curled into a half-smile when she thought that he would probably actually fit in rather well. 

“Ah, a beautiful smile graces me. I am in your debt, lovely Warden,” Zevran said charmingly, and Aislin let go of his hand immediately in retaliation, causing him to almost land on his ass before he regained his footing. He laughed, straightening up with a glint in his eye. She kept her face impassive. 

“Aislin is my name, no flowery adjectives needed or wanted, pretty,” she replied, turning on her heel and taking her leave, her companions following her, “Alistair is the lovely Warden here, flirt with him instead.” Alistair complained at that, though it was mostly a compliment and a deflection and not meant to be emasculating. 

“But are truths flowery or fact?” was his response, and Aislin had half a mind to throw a knife at him. He would surely dodge it. Probably. Maybe. 

“Depends, ask Alistair,” she drawled, continuing down their path. They would need a place to camp for the night, the sun was setting and they had traveled quite a distance before being ambushed by Zevran and company.

He breathed a laugh behind them and she heard his feet move to catch up to them, though he walked in view of most of the party, he kept off to the side. Not quite part of the clique yet, but maybe he would be with time. Aislin smiled to herself, face hidden as she led the group away.


	2. A New Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Aislin start to get to know each other a little better. Obviously he is insufferable and she is prickly.

Despite Aislin’s general confidence in herself and her choices, she did make it a point to keep an eye on Zevran, if only for her companions’ sake. But hey, don’t tell anyone she had a soft spot for her friends. 

Even Aislin knew that friends were hard to come by, and even harder to keep around. Despite her coy personality she cherished the people who surrounded her. Again, don’t tell them. She had a reputation to uphold. 

Thus, she made a mental note to sure to drag Zevran along on any and all missions to keep him in her sights. Some might say that this put her in more immediate danger, but Aislin truly didn’t feel that he was a threat to her. If he tried to kill her, Morrigan would freeze him solid faster than Aislin could even slash his throat. Sten obviously had no qualms in offing him either. Yes, while he was a threat while they slept, they always had a watch person on post, and Zevran was never the only one awake. 

“Do I really need a babysitter?” He complained good naturedly as Aislin paced by the fire as her comrades slept. 

“No, I do not particularly think so, though my comrades would disagree,” Aislin responded honestly with a half-shrug, “Thus, here I am. Get used to me being your shadow, pretty, at least for the time being.”

Zevran chuckled, reclining against one of the logs around the crackling fire, “Ah, I see, you have been charmed by me. Spared my life in hopes of spending some quality time, I understand completely, bella.” Aislin wanted to slap the shit-eating grin that the orange glow illuminated in the darkness. 

Instead, she gave a short laugh and a throwing knife was soon embedded in the wood next to Zevran’s elbow. He didn’t even flinch, and his smile only grew wider. Impressive. Or incredibly unconcerned with pain or death. Either way, it was interesting, though not surprising for an Antivan Crow. 

“Aislin is my name, thank you,” she said conversationally as she mosied around to pluck the knife from the wood, “And my interest in you begins and ends with making certain you honor your oath aiding me against the Blight.”

Zevran lolled his head back to look up at her as she passed, “Oh do not tell me you are not even a little bit curious in me beyond that? I am quite handsome and charming, as you can see.” 

Aislin wondered what would happen if she just didn’t answer him. She continued her restless path around the fire in silence. She also pondered the thought of killing him now, he made a lot of noise. 

“Ah, speechless I see. You would not be the first woman to-“

“Oh, shut up would you?” Alistair shouted as he poked his head out of his tent in a rage, “I didn’t know keeping watch required so much damn talking.” 

Aislin smiled with her back to Zevran, though he must have noticed the minute shake of her shoulders as she laughed. When she turned, her usual bemused look adorned her face. 

“I would listen to him, Alistair is rather cranky when he does not get enough sleep.” She ignored his indignant groan from the tent at her words and could hear him grumbling to himself.

Zevran shrugged noncommittally, “Well, I do know a few pastimes that require no talking at all. Though it often results in screaming, in my experience.”

Aislin feigned ignorance on his meaning, “Murder? I hardly think Alistair deserves that much for his rudeness.”

“You’re the ones that are being rude,” the man in question hissed again from his tent. Aislin and Zevran both ignored him, though she did move away from his tent and stopped pacing to avoid speaking next to him. He truly was a bear when he didn’t sleep well, and she didn’t want to listen to his griping the whole way to Redcliffe tomorrow. 

Zevran laughed softly with a glint in his eye not unlike the one she saw during their battle, “Ah, such a coy response, bellisima. I am continuously intrigued by you, perhaps I could make you scream one day, murder uninvolved.” 

He truly didn’t let up but Aislin didn’t mind much, he was entertaining. And she had dealt with his kind before.

“In your dreams, pretty,” she snorted taking a seat on the adjacent log next to the fire.

“Why, si, but why not reality as well?” 

“Can it, before I cut out your tongue and give it to Morrigan.”

“Oh, yes, please continue to talk dirty to me.” 

…. 

Alistair was, as expected, a cranky man the next morning. Which, wasn’t exactly fair since Aislin didn’t sleep at all in order to afford her comrades the rest. He had gotten some sleep if not a lot.

Aislin blamed it on insomnia, reasoning that if she was going to be awake anyway she might as well take the watch most often. She had even sent Zevran to bed before dawn, knowing she would not be able to sleep herself. Morrigan sometimes supplied her with sleeping spells, though often she had to slip a potion into Aislin’s food in order to get her to take it. They certainly were a pair of stubborn asses, but it was the way both of them showed they cared. 

The dreams frightened Aislin, leading to her inability to want to sleep. She knew she wasn’t at peak performance when she lacked rest, but the nightmares of Darkspawn and the Archdemon shook her to the core. She would rather live with bags underneath her eyes and fatigue in her limbs that allow her friends to hear her scream in fear due to a mere dream. 

Pride certainly played a part, but truly she was scared shitless. So many things they lacked to tell new recruits, and Aislin could see exactly why. Two men died at her Joining. Nightmares haunted the ones who lived. And there were so many secrets yet uncovered. Perhaps she and Alistair would never know the extent of their curse, being the last Wardens in Ferelden. Maybe they would die never knowing. The honor of the Grey Wardens be damned, this was a curse if she ever knew one. A part of her wished she had just fled the Alienage and Fereldan altogether, but another part whispered that she was meant for this. Which is why she trekked on, despite feeling that the universe had chosen wrong.

She stifled another yawn as they made their way through the wilderness, making their way to Redcliffe from the Brecillian Forests. It would be a long trek, weeks, but they were all used to it by now. Even Zevran didn’t complain as much as Alistair was currently.

“Alistair, please. For the gods’ sake. Shut up.” She hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose as a headache pounded behind her eyes, “I will apologize for keeping you awake. I will buy you anything you goddamn want on the next stop. But would you please just be quiet. For ten minutes. Please.” 

Hearing the exhaustion in her voice, and the double use of please (hearing even one was pretty rare), he shut his trap. Despite their clashing personalities, he and Aislin were close comrades and fellow Wardens. He was a good friend. And he knew better than anyone why she wasn’t currently able to sleep, though he avoided confronting her about it. Last time he had she had been particularly cruel to avoid admitting her perceived weakness. She regretted it, but was too proud to apologize as of yet. 

They walked in silence for a while, Aislin’s headache subsided and she felt guilty for having snapped at Alistair. She shot him a meaningful glance, and he shrugged a shoulder in response. They were okay. 

It didn’t take much longer for some blasted Darkspawn to show their ugly faces. There truly was no rest for the wicked. Aislin sighed and unsheathed her twin daggers and jumped into the fray as if she was bright-eyed and bushy tailed, refusing to show her fatigue to those who followed her. 

Darkspawn generally did not take much brain power to dispatch, they were soulless monsters and their biggest threat was their sheer numbers. Bandits even were more of a challenge, they at least showed individual thought and cunning. 

Her comrades and she had at it, she shouted reminders to watch for their blood periodically. While she and Alistair were resistant to the taint, being tainted themselves from the inside, the others had to be more careful. 

She fought hard despite her exhaustion, but it made her sloppier. Aislin was a dynamic fighter, dancing around victims and exploiting blind spots and distraction to fell even the largest foes. Today she was losing stamina fast, but she was too proud to want to retreat to her warriors for protection. 

The wind was knocked out of her as a Darkspawn threw her off its shoulders, where she had perched to break its neck. This maneuver worked better on living targets, like humans or other elves, but she had defaulted to it on autopilot instead of thinking it through.

On her back, gasping for breath, she was vulnerable to be skewered. She rolled to the side to avoid a blow from its blade that would have sliced her in half. Thankfully the numbers had thinned out enough that she was not in more immediate danger of being surrounded but this Shriek was faster than she was right now.

Gods, she fucked up. She fucked up. And she was more embarrassed about her current situation than worried that she may die as a result. What kind of leader was she if she couldn’t take down some measly Darkspawn. 

This thought fueled her, and she swept her legs under the Shriek as it advanced on her, knocking it down. Her eyes held blazing fury as she jumped atop it and severed its head in a slice from both of her blades.

In her distraction with this one Darkspawn, which left her heaving as her tired body struggled to keep up, she turned to find another upon her. She leapt away to avoid its blow, but it continued after her. An Ogre, and it had set its sights on her. Fantastic. At a different time she would relish the battle of such a huge foe, and would fell it like tree with ease. Now, it was all she could do to avoid its grabbing hands and earth-shaking overhead blows. With a jump back, she threw her last throwing knife into its eye, partially blinding it but absolutely enraging it. 

While she dodged its next blow, the shaking earth caused her to lose her footing again and fall. How shameful, she thought. Well, if she died here at least she would no longer suffer this fate of the Grey Wardens. 

Before it could shatter her bones, the tip of a blade erupted from the beast’s chest, and Aislin scrambled to avoid its falling body. It was not either Alistair or Sten’s blade it was, 

“Ah, the beautiful Warden lives,” Zevran said cheekily as he pulled his broadsword from its back and stepped over its body, “I was worried there for a moment.” 

Aislin slapped his hand away as he tried to help her up, and her cheeks burned with exhilaration and shame. She’d rather have died than have to face the mortification of being “saved” by one of her male companions…. again. 

She rose to her feet and pressed her hand to the back of her head, the last fall may have concussed her. Brilliant. She had half a mind to off herself rather than be a burden to her team further.

“Unnecessarily, it was under control,” she growled, as she picked herself up and then walked past him haughtily. Wynne would have to take a look at her later, and most likely scold her mom-style for her sleep and eating habits, which were obviously detrimental to her health and combat ability despite her insistence that she was fine.

“If that is what ‘control’ looks like, I have surely been doing it all wrong this entire time. There is truly so much to learn from you, bellissima.” 

Aislin muttered every elven swear word she knew, which was almost the full extent of her vocabulary, under her breath. 

“I am starting to regret letting you live.” Came her reply as she kept walking, Zevran trailing behind her.

“Ah, but I have surely already shown my usefulness, no? What is better than another guard to protect a goddess’s life?” 

A goddess, she liked that one if she was going to be honest. But she gave him the cold shoulder regardless. 

“Griffin is all I need in that department,” she snapped back regardless, referring to her faithful Mabari. 

Zevran laughed and continued to follow her back to reconvene with the rest of their companions, “But I was the one to save your life in this instance, do I not deserve a bit of praise? Perhaps a treat?” 

Aislin groaned audibly and ground out a short, “Thank you.” 

“Be still my heart! I will cherish those beautiful, kind words for the days to come, I fear they are rather hard to come by.” 

Yes, Aislin truly wished she had killed this man rather than suffer his snark. She leaned down to pluck throwing knives from the bodies of dead Darkspawn as she went, and toyed with the idea of tossing a few at him to shut his trap. 

“You look awful,” Morrigan’s voice was so welcomed as a relief from Zevran’s taunts. Aislin rolled her eyes at the blunt words but knew these harsh words were her language of concern. She probably did look awful.

“Awfully beautiful, like a war goddess returning from the battle. Her steed trailing behind faithfully….”

Aislin turned her head over her shoulder as Morrigan cast a quick healing spell, though her skills in rejuvenation were lacking, it would do for now and Aislin preferred her to anyone else. Wynne could do the heavy lifting later. “If you make any puns about ‘riding’, I will personally slaughter you.” came her curt reply. 

She gave him a withering look before the group set off to find a place to camp for the night. Aislin would gladly take a sleeping potion and hopefully she could sleep off the embarrassment and shame from nearly losing today. 

….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henlo friends! Sorry for the two week wait on a second chapter, but here it is! I’m still getting used to writing this world and these characters, so it takes me a bit to get into the groove.
> 
> I hope you like! Have a good week everybody!


	3. Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Aislin almost dying, some good ol fleshing out of our beloved Warden.

As Aislin had expected, Wynne fussed over her for much too long once they camped for the night. She tried her best to remain thankful for the healing, and the kind words hidden amongst her exasperation at Aislin’s lack of care for her physical needs.

“You’re not eating nor sleeping as you should, how can you expect to save Fereldan if you cannot take care of yourself?” the mage chided as she pushed the exhaustion from her leader’s body with healing magic. Of course this could never be a long term fix, magic could never replace the bodily needs of food and rest. Aislin tried not to fidget too much, did not want to seem ungrateful for the help, but it was hard for her to sit still and allow herself to be lectured.

Growing up in the Denerim Alienage, without parents beyond her formative years, she was not accustomed to this type of familial concern that Wynne provided. Whenever she’d been lectured it had been by the Elder of the Alienage and she never listened to a word she said. Or it was by human guards who had spotted her nosing around looking for someone to pickpocket. She had listened even less to them, if that was at all possible. The only person she had ever listened to was her mentor, the person who put a knife in her hand and bade her to use it well and make coin in blood - a talent introduced by her rogue mother to a child who needed to protect herself, and later cultivated by Jamalla to make a profit. 

So she sat still as best as she could, Wynne showed her concern with action and advise. Aislin listened well enough, nodding when appropriate and biting back snide remarks. 

“Please eat something before you sleep, Warden,” Wynne advised as she finished her healing magic, “You are no longer concussed, you can sleep without worry, but magic, even healing magic, strains both the caster and the recipient.” 

Aislin nodded absently, rising to slightly shaky legs to fetch something to eat. She rarely ate meat, as it more often than not upset her stomach, but some salted dried mutton and a bit of bread would do. She hoped she did not get sick. 

She sat by the fire and ate with a bit of ale to wash it down. Hopefully the alcohol would held her get some sleep tonight. She detested being drunk, as it was dangerous for any assassin to have their guard down, but she trusted the people around her. Even, she supposed, Zevran. While they had only traveled together for about a week, she had not sensed malintent from him. And he did, as hard as it was to admit for Aislin, saved her life today. 

Morrigan would insist he was just trying to sidle up to the leader of this group of rebels, the person most likely to be able to keep him safe from the Crows and from their companions if things turned sour. 

Aislin was inclined to believe that, but she also generally had a good sense for people’s character. Not emotions, she was bad at that part but a person’s intentions, personality, tendencies…. she was good at figuring those out quickly. She had to, to be able to survive in her world. Staying a few steps ahead of a person meant they could never catch you. Keeping people at more than an arm's distance most of her life served the same purpose but also isolated her. She could figure people out but had no comprehension of their emotions. People were confusing in that way, so many tangled up feelings. Aislin supposed she had them too but she lived by the method of keeping all your emotions inside where no one could see or exploit them, and then one day, die. It worked well to keep her alive so far. 

But left her a subpar leader. She couldn’t relate well enough with people to lead very well or inspire. People told her she did inspire them sometimes though, people she had intentionally or unintentionally helped along the way, and she could only stare. She was just doing what was best for her goals and well if she happened to take a look for someone’s missing family member or whatever while she was there…. why not help right? It didn’t make her a great leader or anything, or anything really good. She was just doing what she had to to stay alive. As she always had. She was more or less content with letting Alistair lead, he had that quality. But those in their party tended to defer to her. She supposed that she was best suited to make the most objective decisions possible. But that by no means made her a good leader. 

Aislin tried not to dwell on her shortcomings following feeling ashamed that she had fallen so easily. She needed to take care of herself despite the fear gnawing at her stomach. She could never regret the events at Denerim, killing those men for what they did to her friends…. she felt no remorse. But it had cursed her to a fate she would not wish on anybody else. Aislin supposed she could have tried to run but there were too many guards for her to take alone, out in the open, in broad daylight. She could have run from the Grey Wardens at her arrival, but they were in unfamiliar territory. She was planning on ditching them at first chance but… well a lot had happened in a short time. And the leash that tethered her and Alistair and every other Grey Warden to the Darkspawn was more cruel and unusual than she could have imagined. 

She was making excuses. Aislin had made specific choices to be here, and stay here. But a lot of it felt like she had just been swept along for the ride and ended up here. 

“My Warden looks rather pensive. I hope the events from earlier are not still troubling you.” Zevran’s voice broke her out of a spiral of dark thoughts. 

Aislin glanced at him, he sat adjacent to her at the fire. She finished her small meal and chased it with ale, not quite feeling up for the cat and mouse conversations they tended to engage in. To be frank, she wanted a blunt conversation with Morrigan. Or even Sten, he did not mince words. Alistair and Leliana would ask her about how she was feeling and that was even worse than feeling anything. Zevran maybe could read the room and let her be. 

Surprisingly to her, when he received no quip, he did not press the joke to her further. He looked at her closely before turning his face to the fire. Aislin was inwardly grateful. 

“I do not mean to tease if the subject is tender, Aislin. I simply want you to know that it is nothing to dwell on.”

“Assassins who fall, die. You know this.” she mumbled irritably, turning her head away.

Zevran chuckled quietly, “Says the one who spared my life - how ironic,” he pointed out, though not unkindly. Aislin felt some tension leave her shoulders. She bit back the instinct to give a cruel response to push him away. 

He rose, turning toward this tent, “At the risk of a knife being thrown in my general direction, might I suggest that you could afford to be a little kinder to yourself eh? Life is too short. Get some rest.” She did not look up as he retired to his tent but did not feel as shitty as she had before he had said anything. 

When she retired to her own tent, just after Morrigan came to take the nightly watch and eye her like a hawk until Aislin went to her tent, she was able to get some sleep. Dreamless, and uninterrupted for the first time in a while. She thanked the ale for that

…

The next day, she still felt tired but the soul-crushing exhaustion that had followed her the last few days had abated. She got up to deconstruct their camp and found everyone already awake and milling about.

“Good morning, or afternoon, I guess would be more accurate,” Alistair greeted and Aislin squinted at him and then at the sun. Oh. It was well after noon. Aislin rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, clearing her throat. 

“Slept well?” Leliana asked hopefully, she was tending to her armor, “We figured we could all use some rest, so we’ll stay put here for the night. We can head out tomorrow.” 

Aislin blinked, then nodded. She had fallen asleep in her leather outerwear, and she was sweaty. She figured they wouldn’t be able to get going until late now since camp would take a while to deconstruct before they could even get moving. She appreciated that they had let her sleep as much as she was able while it was an option. And one dreamless night left her hopeful for more, though the nightmares of the Archdemon still looked and made her itch. 

She plucked at the strings of her leathers and pulled it loose as she retreated back to her tent to change. She determined that a bath was good to wake her up and she was generally in need of one after yesterday’s events. Blood was still caked in her hair, she was sweaty and grimy and yeah it was time. 

There was a stream nearby, she shucked her smallclothes and donned a pair of comfortable leather pants and a loose-fitting cotton shirt to wear until she could submerge herself. She tugged out the small piece of black ribbon that held her hair in it’s braid. She combed it back with her fingers before emerging from her tent again. 

It was rare for her hair to be down, she usually only let it down when she had a headache or when she slept. Since she hadn’t been doing much sleeping, it had been set in a plait for at least a week, braving every kind of weather and battles. It was wavy and wild now, despite her hands fussing with it as she made her way barefoot to the running water that pooled to a pond a bit down the hill. 

Feeling eyes on her as she went she looked up, and Alistair was turing away. She furrowed her brow, and turned her head back to catch Zevran’s eye. Oh, of course he was looking at her. 

“What,” she barked as he smirked when he met her eyes. 

“Simply thinking of what I said previously,” Aislin grimaced at him, uninterested as he tended to say a lot of things - most of them unnecessary. Filler. 

“That you look like a vengeful war goddess,” he finished as she turned her back to him, pace not faltering. Oh, that. Yeah she still liked that, it stroked her ego. She rolled her eyes at herself for enjoying that particular flirtatious name, though he could not see, and made her way out of sight from the camp to wash the gore and exhaustion from her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet i have no idea what I’m doing plot wise with this I’m kinda just winging it. It’s kind of all over the place but shrug it’s just for fun. 
> 
> I’m lowkey also working on a Solavellan fic uhhhhh bc I’m trash. BioWare rly gets me with the whole angsty elven men who hate themselves. I have a type and I know it. 
> 
> Anyways I hope everyone has a great week!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! This is... the first time I’ve posted fic in five years. I wrote and posted quite a lot when I was a teenager but I’ve since been too critical of myself so I wanted to try to post something fun I’ve been wanting to write for a while. Idk how many chapters it’ll be or how cohesive the plot will be, but I hope y’all enjoy just some fun fic of the goodest boy. There might be more ships that pop up along the way too who knows.


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